


a little love is better than none

by NevermindBye



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Future Fic, Getting Back Together, M/M, Post-Divorce, What Have I Done
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-29
Updated: 2018-11-29
Packaged: 2019-09-02 06:44:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16781704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NevermindBye/pseuds/NevermindBye
Summary: Will is pretty sure that they are somewhat bad at getting divorced. Derek very much disagrees.





	a little love is better than none

##  Prologue

Will wakes at the closing of a door. His alarm shows him that it’s that time of night some people call late and others call early. Streetlights pour into the room. Will doesn’t like complete darkness, so he leaves his curtains open. He can do what he wants, nowadays, living alone and all that. Except that he never quite feels all that alone. There’s a presence that’s still haunts him. Nothing supernatural. Just a mug he refuses to drink out of. Some shirts he’s buried in his closet but hasn’t thrown out yet. A few books on his bookshelf he has never read and probably never will. So he isn’t alone, not really at least.

In other circumstances he would reach for the old baseball bat he put under his side of the bed half a year or so ago. But considering the actual circumstances, he just sighs and closes his eyes again. Someone is walking down the hall getting closer to Will’s bedroom, the door not even properly shut. The steps have a familiar pattern. Long, quiet strides. They echo his heartbeat. He rolls over, turning his back to the bedroom door that slowly creeps open. 

It’s somewhat nice of the intruder to mind his sleeping schedule. They both probably know that Will is awake, though. Sleep doesn’t come easy for Will these days, and when he does manage to fall asleep, he wakes at the smallest noises. Or the lights of passing by cars. He can’t sleep for the same reason the intruder takes off his shoes now, probably already wearing sweatpants and an old, comfortable shirt.

Cold air hits Will’s back as the blanket his lifted off of him on one side. A warm body with nice sturdy arms wrapping around his middle make up for the goosebumps, though. A cold nose nuzzles the back of his neck and soft lips press a kiss to his nape.

“Couldn’t sleep?,” Will asks softly. A redundant question, really. He doesn’t need to open his eyes or turn around to know that Derek Nurse is smiling. He doesn’t open his eyes or turns around to check if it’s a content smile or if it’s bitter, either.

“Woke up missing you,” Derek whispers back, his lips tickle the sensitive skin of Will’s neck. And Will’s heart aches. It’s a broken heart already and it still aches at every word Derek presses into his skin. Broken things aren’t supposed to still feel.  _ When will it stop hurting _ , Will wonders. He wonders almost daily by now.

“I have to get up in three hours,” Will says. He yawns.

“I know, important game later today,” Derek says, “that’s why I’m here.”

_ Because I know you can’t sleep alone. Because I can’t either. _

Will huffs out an unamused laugh. “If you knew, why not come earlier?”

“Stop complaining. Sleep,” Derek says, pulling Will closer to his chest.

“I slept fine until you barged in,” Will mutters, “leave your goddamn key when you leave this time. I told you a hundred times already.”

Whenever Derek comes over, Will wants to fight him. Scream at him, throw things around, wreck havoc. He knows for a fact that Derek just came back from New York, that he must have landed late in the evening. He probably tried to sleep in his own place and realized he couldn’t. Will knows it and still can’t not reprimand him. He can’t ignore any chance to fight with Derek. It’s what they are now. It’s what they’ve been in college. It’s familiar. It’s getting old, too.

Will turns in Derek’s arms. For the first time tonight he looks at Derek. He’s older now than the pretentious kid he met in college. Will’s older, too. But he hasn’t grown out of his youthful pettiness, his pessimism, his cynicism. Derek has grown accustomed to it, looks straight through it now, after years of learning all things that make Will Will. That’s why Will fell in love with him in the first place. Because he was one of the only people that even bothered to try to figure Will out, to look deeper and look past all his ugly faces.

Will presses a tired kiss to Derek’s mouth. Derek kisses him back. It’s a simple kiss. A reminder, maybe, that  _ yes, we’re still doing this _ . Same old game, same old people.

“Sleep,” Derek says again. 

Will nods and closes his eyes. 

For the first time that night, his body relaxes and he falls into a deep, dreamless slumber. 

  
  
  


In the morning he’ll find a note instead of the man himself. Like so many times before. He puts it on top of the others in his nightstand drawer. He hates himself for it. He hates himself for so many things he lets happen. He hates that he has to get up now, and get ready alone. That no one is there to brew him coffee, that he has to shave alone, that no one tells him “good morning”. He hates that Derek didn’t leave his key when he left. He hates that he’s glad about it.

* * *

  
  


##  Chapter I

Will’s team wins the game. They’re all excited and relieved and their adrenaline levels must be through the roof. Despite not having been able to get a shot in, Will assisted in two goals, so that’s fun. His teammates huddle together afterwards, clapping each other on the back, half-hugging - the kind of manly hug manly men do to not seem non-manly - and giving out rare praise. Things are different than they were at Samwell. Will hasn’t had a proper hug from a guy since Chowder and he visited the Zimmermann’s up north last August. While Bitty’s hugs are loving and sincere, Will actually prefers Jack’s hugs. Will likes the fatherly feel of the hugs. He especially likes the half-step back Jack takes with his arms still around Will, to give him a paternal kind of nod to silently ask if Will is doing alright. That was last August, though. And it’s November now. No hugs. Well, a hug from a guy he isn’t sleeping with, that is. Derek doesn’t count. That’s something… entirely different.

He’s on press duty tonight and his mood drops a little bit when their coach orders him to the press room. That’s the part of his job he detests the most. The public aspect of it all is what wears Will out more than the tough practices, the even tougher games, the traveling and the injuries combined. He just doesn’t like to talk in public. The right words never came easy to him and usually Derek would be the one talking for him. Will just doesn’t like to be publicly criticised or questioned at all. What he dreads the most are the questions about his private life. Especially his  _ love life _ . While he isn’t the first openly non-heterosexual hockey player - Zimmermann, Parson, Birkholtz and Zimmermann again all paved that road for him - he is still one of the first players to come out and the only one on his team. And even though the press people are told to not ask questions that are not hockey-related, they do. Every fucking time.

They all sit down at the table, those tiny micros in their faces, lights blinding them. Usual business. Captain Rothman and the alternate Shoemaker get most of the questions. Will is pretty sure the sole reason for his presence is for the sake of diversity. This thing his team’s PR team prides itself with. Truth is, however, being a gay dude among twenty or so straight guys is sometimes more than awkward to say the least. Even more awkward if you’re a gay dude currently going through a divorce. Connecting to other people is hard for Will as it is, but he was thoroughly spoiled by the openness he experienced at Samwell and fell into a deep hole when he realized that most people aren’t as easy and tolerant as his ex-teammates. Team meetings are tense, private meetings are even more so and they all mostly avoid asking Will questions about his life. He’s somewhat glad about it.

“Mr. Rothman, if you could change any aspect of your team strategy retrospectively, what would you have done differently?,” one reporter asks.

Rothmann makes a clicking noise before answering. “I guess I would’ve put Poindexter out more. He was pretty good tonight and he could’ve gotten us a goal tonight if I had put more responsibility onto him”

Will looks down at his clammy hands. He’s never been good with compliments. Most of the time he thinks he hasn’t earned the compliment, that it’s insincere, that he’s only being complimented because the team wants to be known as the team that supports their local gay. Sometimes Will is glad Shitty isn’t able to listen to his thoughts. Or worse; Bitty. Bitty has always been Will’s number one supporter and he usually never misses a chance to shower him with compliments, reassurances, love in general. Especially after they announced their decision to get divorced. 

“Are you sure that that would’ve been a good decision?,” the reporter probes further, “considering that Poindexter is going through a rough patch in his life right now. Putting more responsibility on him now might cause him to break.”

And there it is. The u-turn to Will’s private life.

Rothman is about to answer when another reporter pipes up.

“Yeah, sorry, Derek Nurse from  _ Rise Weekly _ ,” Derek Nurse from  _ Rise Weekly _ says, ”I have a question for Dex.”

Will huffs out a laugh, shakes his head. Of course he’d be here. Of course he wouldn’t tell Will beforehand. Of course he’d use Will’s old college nickname. Derek’s always been the one to expect surprises from.

“Go ahead,” Will says. The other reporter, still standing, looks from Will back to Derek, maybe a little confused, definitely a little angry.

“Thanks,” Derek says, actually winking at Will. That asshole. “So if you could change any aspect of your performance today,  _ retrospectively _ , be it pre-game, game or post-game, what would you have done differently?”

What an actual asshole. Will can’t hold back his breathy laughter. He leans in to the microphone, seeking direct eye contact with Derek before answering.

“I’d definitely would get more sleep,” Will says.

“Sleep is important,” Derek plays along.  
  
  
  
“It is.”

“Thanks, Mr Nurse,” Derek says and sits down.

“I actually go with Poindexter again, Mr Nurse,” Will says, rolling his eyes.

“Of course, my apologies,” Derek laughs, “just a slip of the tongue.”

Only then it is that they realize that there are actually other people in the room. Other people who just witnessed an established NHL hockey player flirt with his ex-husband during a press conference. So, basically, Will decides to not follow the news for at least a decade. He’s sure his team will be less awkward around him after this. Very sure. 

Of course his ex-husband had to be here tonight to report on Will’s game. He’s always the one to report on everything that is William Poindexter formerly known as William Nurse formerly known as William Poindexter. It’s been like this from the beginning. Will went pro straight after college, and Derek was taken on by  _ Rise Weekly _ , a sports magazine where he could write for the hockey section. They were the power couple of hockey. Samwell made them think that the whole world would be accepting of their relationship. Hockey legends like Jack and Bob Zimmermann had come out as bisexual, Kent Parson opened up about his queerness, Adam Birkholtz said  _ fuck it _ one day and posted a family picture of Ransom, their daughters and himself on Twitter out of the blue. Will and Derek were riding on a high when Will decided his rookie year to pull a Zimmermann and come out publicly. They were riding on a high when they decided to get married after being together for a year and a half. They felt untouchable.

Then came the public scrutiny. The stress of always being on the road. The hate on social media. The questions. His teammates’ awkwardness. Then came the fights. The temporary breakups. The tears. And eventually came the divorce. The public announcement. The shame. The fear of his friends choosing to be on Derek’s side. The loneliness. Until one night he heard a key turn in his apartment door’s lock. The apartment that was formerly theirs. And just like that they fell into this routine. This thing they didn’t talk about. This standing in the doorframe, never going through or turning back. Hovering between spaces. Moments like last week, when they were fighting so loudly Will’s neighbor knocked on the wall and yelled for them to shut up, and even threatened to call the police. Moments like this, flirting and forgetting everything and everyone around them.

Maybe he’ll be freed from PR duty from now on, though. That’s a positive, Will’s pretty sure.

  
  
  


“I can’t fucking believe that you called me  _ Mr. Nurse _ in front of my captain and all those press people,” Will says as soon as Derek slips into his apartment.

It’s late, as usual. Derek probably expected Will to be in bed already, but Will actually has a free day tomorrow, so he decided to stay up late for once. He sits on the couch, sweatpants on, a beer on the couch table, and an old Western running in the background.

Derek steps into what was once his living room, as well. Now he’s merely a guest.

“I didn’t mean to,” he says, “I honestly just slipped up.” 

Derek’s always been a shit liar. The way he avoids eye contact and busies himself with things he’d normally never bother to do, like hanging up his coat properly and putting his shoes on the rack next to the door.

“My ass, you just like how it sounds,” Will mutters, sinking further into the couch cushions.

Derek plops down right next to him, not shyly. “What was that about your ass,” he says while leaning in to nuzzle Will’s neck. Will ignores him.

Neither says a word for a moment, Derek continuously trying to get a rise out of Will by kissing, nuzzling and biting his neck, and Will pretending to watch the movie. Eventually, Derek sighs and lets his head fall onto Will’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, you’re right,” he admits, “I do like how it sounds. You used to, too.”

“ _ Used to _ are the keywords here,” Will says, trying half-heartedly to shake off Derek’s head.

Derek responds by inching closer, his hand finding Will’s thigh. “I said I’m sorry,” he says, not angrily, “let me make it up to you.”

And that’s what it always comes down to. They pretend to fight that leads into them having sex. Derek would sleep over and leave early in the morning, only leaving behind a note on the pillow he’s slept on. Same old spiel. Same old spiel Will is willing to participate in.

“How are you going to make up for it?,” Will asks suggestively. 

Derek’s lips pull up into a smile. He reaches for Will’s legs and pulls them up on the couch before crawling between them. One hand on Will’s thigh to put it around his middle, the other reaching behind Will to pull him into a kiss. 

For a while they would just fuck. No caresses, no tenderness and no kisses. That was the time they were still so angry at each other they couldn’t even talk to each other. They still don’t, not about the important things anyways, but they can at least have some sort of conversation again. They both had to learn to see the other as a whole person again, not only as the hurt and ache that came with their separation. A person they once loved. Maybe still love. Maybe always will love. Maybe that’s the reason they’re so bad at this thing. This whole fucked up separation thing.

“You looked so hot on the ice today,” Derek whispers into Will’s ear as he opens the other’s fly. 

“Shut up,” Will pants, trying to get his hands on as much of Derek’s skin as possible. That tan, smooth skin that haunts him during lonely moments. The tattoos that adorn his beautiful body. He’s traced them all with his tongue many times.

“You were so good,” Derek continues. They’re naked by now, their clothes discarded on the floor. Will would pick them up in the morning after Derek’s left.

“Sign the damn divorce papers already,” Will says, reaching for Derek’s hard cock. They both know each other well enough to understand that nothing fancy will happen tonight. A quick relief, an outburst of accumulated heat. 

“Got my hands full at the moment,” Derek says before shutting Will up by kissing him. Tongue and all. Will has taken both their cocks in his hand and jerks them off as best as he can. Derek’s hips thrust wantonly, seeking more friction.  
  
  


Derek squeezes Will’s ass while teasing Will’s nipple with the other hand. He’s always been the one to multi-task in heated situations like this, while Will is more of a focus-on-one-thing-at-a-time kind of guy. During sex they work well together, though.  _ Very well _ . Their kisses grow more and more filthy the closer they get to their releases. 

They come together only minutes later. Not the most spectacular sex they’ve ever had but it got the job done. Derek lies on his back now, with Will’s head resting on his shoulder. They both like to cuddle after sex, in that aspect they’ve always been on the same page.

Will tries to find something to say. Something that would diffuse the situation, something that justified him letting Derek back into his apartment and consequently back into his life, time and again. 

“Leave the key when you leave,” Will finally settles on, “I’ll take a shower.”

It’s a dismissal and they both know it. They’re not a thing anymore. They’re not together. The nameplate right next to his bell still reads Nurse, though. A spur of the moment kind of thing, really. Like their entire marriage. After Will came out to his parents and his parents not reacting all that well to the news that their son was gay, Dex decided in a drunken stupor it would be best to get rid of his family name. Derek, also in a drunken stupor, suggested that the easiest way to do so would be to get married. So after sobering up, they started the car and 40 hours later they arrived in Las Vegas. Got drunk again, got married. Will never regretted it. Still doesn’t, even though he goes by Poindexter again. It’s a thing of pride, as so many things are that Will does.

“Sorry, I can’t. I actually forgot the key at my place,” Derek lies while he puts his pants back on.

“Oh really, how’d you get in then,” Will says, standing in the doorway to the bathroom. He didn’t bother putting on his clothes again. Derek has already seen everything there is to see anyways, and they’ve moved past being shy about their bodies back in college.

“It was open.”

Will only sighs and lets it go. 

“I don’t know yet when I’ll be able to come by again, I’ve got to head to California tomorrow for a report on the  _ Anaheim Ducks _ ,” Derek informs him absentmindedly as he puts on his coat. It’s been getting quite chilly recently.

“Oh my god, they still exist,” Will laughs. Nurse looks up at that and smiles.

“They certainly do and I have the honor to follow the team around for a day,” Derek shrugs.

“Have fun then,” Will says.

“I’d rather stay,” Derek says.

“You should leave,” Will says.

Derek says nothing, just smiles before he finally disappears through the apartment door. Almost as if he hadn’t been here in the first place.

This time, Will was able to clearly see what kind of smile it was Derek was giving him. He wishes he didn’t, though. 

  
  
  
  


Two days later Will goes to practice and is met with many raised eyebrows. He kept the promise to himself to not check the news that covered his little stunt at the press conference so he has no idea what the others know and he doesn’t. It seems like his arrival has been awaited, because as soon as he steps into the lounge, three people approach him. He feels cornered.

“Poindexter, can you come to the office, real quick,” a lady from their team’s PR team says. It’s formulated as a question but it sounds more like an instruction, so Will follows wordlessly.

In the office he finds his coach, the team manager and several PR people.  _ Oh great, an intervention _ , Will thinks. He’s really too tired for this. The manager, Caroline, clears her throat and gestures to an empty chair. Will sits. The others stand, lean on tables and walls and watch him.

“So Poindexter,” Caroline starts, “Would you mind answering a few questions just so that the PR team at least knows what they’re dealing with?”

Will sighs. “Sure.”

One woman steps forward, glasses low on her nose and an old ipad in her hand. Will thinks he remembers her being called Souma. 

“We’re thankful that you informed us about your divorce,” Souma from PR says, “but that was half a year ago and we didn’t get any update since then. And at the press conference, if we’re not mistaken, you… That was your ex-husband, Mr. Nurse, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, it was.” 

For some reason, every person in the room, starts nodding. Will wasn’t aware he just spoke a universal truth.

“He referred to you as Mr. Nurse, if I’m correct, so my question is if you decided to not get divorced after all?,” Souma continues.

Will crosses his arms in front of his chest. “That’s my personal business.”

“For goodness sake, Poindexter, answer the goddamn question,” his coach pipes up. He’s a grumpy old man who is way too good at his job despite never having played hockey professionally himself.

Will closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “He hasn’t signed the divorce papers yet,” he says, “so the divorce isn’t final. But we’re still getting divorced. We’re on... good terms, though.”

It’s already more than he is comfortable sharing with a bunch of strangers.

“Are you aware what the press says about you?,” Souma asks.

“I don’t follow the news about me,” Will says. Never has, never will. That was the first advice Jack gave him when he was scouted for the Boston Bears. To never dwell too much on what is said about him in the press. If anyone knows all about handling bad press, it would be Jack Zimmermann.

“Well, you should,” Souma says. “Then you would know that they spin wild stories about what’s going on in your life from the little info they’re getting.”

“What kind of stories?,” Will asks, suddenly curious.

“For example,” Souma says while looking at her ipad, “that you faked your divorce to make yourself look more sympathetic.”

Will huffs out an unamused laugh. “I get it, because I have nothing else going for me, right. So I want people to feel bad for me?”

“And that’s the tamest of them all. Others claim that you’re still hung up over your ex-husband and that he uses you for fame.”

Now Will laughs for real. “Nurse is a bestselling author under a pseudonym, a very competent reporter for  _ Rise Weekly _ , and could work as a model if he wanted to, he doesn’t need me for fame.”

“You may know that and we may know that, but the public doesn’t,” Souma says. “You have to understand that you and your life are interesting. People want to know about you. Maybe it would help if you had any form of social media. You could start with a twitter. We can get you a person to help you with it, what do you think?,” Souma concludes.

Will feels more tired than ever. All he wants is to get into his car, listen to Bob Dylan, and drive home where he’ll take a long nap on his couch. He’s never had social media. Back in college, he once had a Facebook account but he stopped using it after a while. He studied computer science, it’s not like he is unversed in social media or technology as a whole. It’s just that he prefers his private life to remain private.

“Fine, whatever,” he finally amends, “but I have someone in mind who could help me with social media. He does it… somewhat professionally.”

He’d rather Bitty helps him with things than some other person that has no business snooping around in his business.

“Okay, awesome,” Souma smiles, “please give us his contact information so we can talk about some things.”

“Sure,” Will says and stands up, “can I go now?”

He’s dismissed and goes to practice. The other guys don’t mention a thing about anything. Will doesn’t know if it’s tact, disinterest or a lack of knowing how to approach the subject. Quite frankly, he doesn’t care. They work themselves to exhaustion, Will puts more into his drills than usual and the guys know better than to comment on it.

After practice he shoots Bitty a text to ask him if he’s up to help him, and right after he calls Derek. He does it without really pondering whether it’s the right thing to do or not. It still feels natural to type in Derek’s number. Derek picks up right away.

“Will?,” is the first thing Derek says. Will can hear the concern in his voice, but he isn’t surprised, simply because Will never calls first if it isn’t something serious. Their form of communication mostly consists of Derek breaking into his apartment and Will letting him.

“You know, as a consequence of you calling me Mr. Nurse, I now have to get a Twitter account,” Will says. 

He can hear Derek laughing at the other end of the line in relief. “You poor creature! What a heartless punishment for something you didn’t even do!”

“Har har,” Will says. He’s crossing the parking lot to get to his car. He’s never wanted to go home as badly as right now. 

“Let me handle it for you,” Derek says. He must still be working. There a several voices in the background talking to each other, as well as fingers typing away on a keyboard. Derek likes to write in public places. Sometimes, if the weather allows, in a park or under a tree. Pretentious poetry prick, that he is. 

“Definitely not,” Will says, “I’ll ask Bitty. He’s likeable. He knows how to make people like him.”

“Hey! I’m likeable, I even got you to like me. A thing not many can do, after all.”

“Yeah, and you got me to hate you, too. Twice, actually.”

He didn’t mean to say that. 

Derek is silent.

“I’m sorry,” Will whispers. He’s at his car now, not getting in yet, only leaning against it with the key in his hand.

“Don’t be,” Derek whispers back, “it’s true, after all.”

“Doesn’t mean I should have said it.”

“Still,” Derek says, always the one to forgive Will, “it doesn’t matter anyway. You don’t hate me now, do you? All that is important is this one moment in movement.”

“You didn’t think of that just now,” Will laughs.

“Naw, “ Derek admits, “Martha Graham did. But I could’ve.”

“Sure you could have.”

He can hear Derek’s smile through the phone.

“How’s California?”

“Too far away.”

Will knows where this leads, where Derek is trying to steer their conversation. They’ve been there several times already over the course of their divorce. Or failed attempt at, rather.

“Stop it, Nurse.”

“Look how bad we are at this divorce thing. Maybe that means we should- “   
  


“Seriously, Nurse. Stop it,” Will interrupts. He finally opens his car door and slips inside. It’s not much warmer inside than out but Will prefers the closure of his car over the possibility of one of his teammates seeing him standing next to his car getting into an argument over the phone. “Look how bad we were at actually being married. We didn’t work. We don’t work. It’s better like this.”

“It’s better to miss each other constantly and to fuck twice a week?”

Will lets his head fall onto the steering wheel. “You wanted the divorce. You were the one suddenly putting the papers on the table.  _ You _ left  _ me _ .”

“And I’ve regretted it every single day since.”

  
  
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to this, Nurse,” Will says, defeated.

“Wait till I’m back in Boston, we can talk.”

“We’ll see,” Will says and starts the car, “I got to go now. Bye.” Before Derek can say anything back, Will hangs up on him. That’s when he sees Bitty’s reply to his text.

  
And once again, Will is unbelievably thankful for Bitty. An evening with Bitty and wine is exactly what Will needs right now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at it again. That sweet sweet angst with a happy ending. I hope y'all like what I did here because I am craving that validation, you just know it. Please leave kudos and comments if you did actually like it! Cool, great, see y'all next time!


End file.
